


Near

by doublejoint



Category: One Piece
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 16:48:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29263797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Again and again their goals drive them physically apart, but they’re like bodies of water separated by the low tide, periodically flowing back to each other and away again, each part of the cycle as sure as the other.
Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Trafalgar D. Water Law
Comments: 8
Kudos: 44





	Near

**Author's Note:**

> canon-typical battles/injuries, wound treatment, brief explicit sex, character death mentions

Zoro’s mouth tastes numbingly of alcohol. His tongue pushes against Law’s teeth. Their noses bump together, a little clumsy, though maybe that’s on Law and his still-aching arm and the months and years he’d have to peel back since the last time he’d done this and the surprise that comes not only with sensations you’d forgotten but being somewhere you never expected to get. This is what it’s like to have his lips bitten and swollen, to be out of breath from being kissed, to have his hands hooked tight in the folds of someone else’s clothes and slipping down underneath to touch bare skin. Law breathes in, his chest heaving, the smell of alcohol, sweat and blood and metal (metal itself, and the rusty tang of metal on skin), and then leans down to kiss Zoro again.

Zoro’s ass is firm under his fingers; Law grinds their hips together and Zoro’s fingers skim over Law’s neck, up to his ears. Law shudders into the touch, squeezing his eyes shut and making a sound that vibrates in the roof of his mouth, involuntary, undignified. He’s already hard, his cock already pressing against the front of his pants, against Zoro’s thigh, and then—

“Let me,” Zoro says, and then sinks down into a perfect crouch, boards of the deck squeaking under the soles of his boots, his face pressing against Law’s groin, and Law shudders all over again. He reaches out with his good arm, his palm finding Zoro’s head, turning into the touch, and tangles his fingers in Zoro’s hair at the roots. 

Zoro looks up, and Law nods; for a half-second he wonders if Zoro’s going to undo his fly with his teeth but he uses a hand instead, then leans forward, tonguing Law’s cock through his underwear. Law hisses, his fingers clenching tighter. Zoro does it again, licking the length of the shaft, and Law draws a sharp breath. Zoro’s nails, short and blunt, dig into his hips, like the space he’s in is too tight, like his clothes are too tight, like he’s sinking deeper into the physical dimensions of reality. He wants Zoro’s hands to grip him tighter, Zoro’s mouth on his bare skin, and Zoro’s apparently as impatient as he is; he pulls the elastic on Law’s underwear down, dragging with his fingertips down Law’s thighs and takes Law all the way in his mouth, easy as the neck of a bottle of sake. 

Zoro makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat and Law feels it all the way through, screws his eyes shut tighter to feel it better, Zoro’s warm wet mouth around him, licking over the head of his cock, then up the shaft again. Law opens his eyes again to see Zoro hollow out his cheeks, fuck. Law jerks his hips forward, and Zoro meets the gesture perfectly, swallowing against him, and then flicks his tongue against Law’s shaft. Law’s hand slips in Zoro’s hair; he grips tighter and Zoro sighs, vibrations reverberating against Law’s cock and Law feels his breath grow tighter, like all of him’s being squeezed out, and then Zoro licks around his shaft, and he rolls his tongue and Law is lost in the sensation. He should be embarrassed, maybe, about how quickly it takes him to come after that, but it feels too good for him to really want to feel anything else, hand relaxing against Zoro’s head, his other hand reaching, clumsy, for Zoro’s cheek, to wipe the come off his mouth--and then Zoro’s tongue flicks over his hand, licking over his thumb in a swipe and getting it all. 

Zoro raises his arm, gripping onto Law’s good one and hauling himself up to his feet, standing on his toes so he’s at Law’s eye level, so that Law’s eyes, already on his mouth, can see how swollen and wet his lips are. Law kisses him slow and lazy, but Zoro grinds his hips against Law’s leg, presses his tongue against Law’s, right, he hasn’t finished yet. Law fumbles, clumsy, difficult in the dark corner with Zoro dragging himself up against his leg, until Law works his hand under Zoro’s haramaki, into Zoro’s pants and around his cock. Zoro moans into his mouth, so eager in the moment that his want slams into Law and his hand slackens for a second, but, no, Zoro’s been waiting long enough. 

Zoro breaks the kiss, curls into Law (a much better angle for Law’s hand), breathing hard against Law’s neck, his nose pressing into Law’s shoulder, matching Law’s hand with his hips, until he comes, body tensing against Law, eye fluttering shut. They stay like that in the dark nook of the ship for a little while longer, until they really do have to find some place to clean up, Zoro’s head on Law’s shoulder and nearing half-sleep, Law still too wired to get there, still thinking about the noise of the celebration around the corner, the things they have to get back to, but refusing to look back to Dressrosa behind them.

* * *

Events begin to unfold again rapidly, like an overly-large rolled-up map, when they reach Zou, and for a time Law is barely thinking of Zoro or of that Bartolomeo guy’s gaudy ship. His crewmates are here; despite the events that had transpired they’re all okay, and the relief at seeing them again, the realization that despite telling himself he was resigned to die without that, floods his mind and colors everything. He is alive and real. He can feel Bepo’s fur on his neck and hear Jean Bart’s heavy footsteps and the sound of Shachi and Penguin arguing about stupid things again, and he’s here with them and not buried in the ground, his chance renewed, with perhaps more beyond that, to see this alliance through and do something with himself. 

He thinks again of Fleet Admiral Sengoku, the look on his face, and then of the realization that comes periodically: Law had really only known a sliver of the man Cora-san had been. It’s difficult to think of, like gristle in his teeth or drying out his mouth like bread, but it had been easy to push that feeling to the back of his mind with Zoro’s arm hooked around his neck, Zoro’s voice and laugh in his ear. He’d washed away the aftertaste with sake, with Zoro’s mouth pressed against his, and that hadn’t been all that it had been, had it? The distraction had been welcome, but Law wouldn’t have done it for lack of anything better to do, if he hadn’t really wanted, and Zoro’s not the type of person to do that without really wanting to, for the sake of convenience or indiscriminate desire. 

Zoro, too, is busy with his crewmates, with the situation, with planning; they don’t get much of a chance to speak alone together, but the two of them are the ones leading the Wano group along with Kin’emon, and--somewhere along the line, on the submarine, stopping somewhere, or perhaps after they reach Wano, they’ll have a chance to. It gives Law more opportunity to figure out his thoughts, at any rate, to watch, Zoro with his head bent toward the light, Zoro’s hands always near the three hilts on his belt, Zoro bringing the conversation and the plan back from a tangent, Zoro catching his glance and holding it, as two hands on the sheath of the same sword.

He’s easy to work with, Law thinks, in a different way than Straw Hat is (and Straw Hat is, in a way, despite his lack of regard for traditional alliance, or adherence to the plan, how frustrating he can be). He brings his crewmates into the conversation when they need to be there, knows what he doesn’t know and defers to the right people at the right time. The phrase “team player” comes to mind, sneered through a mouth, derogatory, about someone who has little other virtue. It’s rare to see someone as good at standing alone as Zoro is to be equally as good at lending or being leant a shoulder, Law supposes--he himself, as much as he loves and needs his crew, often finds himself loath to do that. 

Straw Hat had told Law, so matter-of-factly, that Zoro was going to be the best swordsman in the world, sooner or later--but probably sooner, he’d said, and because it was Straw Hat, and because it’s Zoro, Law had believed it despite the sudden weight of that statement on its face. Straw Hat doesn’t say things he doesn’t mean and can’t back up, and Zoro is a large part of that backup, on Straw Hat’s wavelength and under his weight, or the opposite, a buoy on his ocean. 

And Zoro believes this of himself, clearly; if he didn’t he wouldn’t spend so much of his spare time in the weight room, lifting all of Jean Bart’s largest weights at once or going through routines with his swords that Law can barely see, even using his haki sometimes. Flashing a blade against an invisible opponent doesn’t mean much on its own, but it means something to Zoro, cutting through the air as if it can be cleaved apart, as if he’ll do anything to get himself closer to his goal. He stabs through empty space; he balances iron discs on his shoulders, a function at its asymptotic limit, a wave nearing the breaking point, drawing from bottomless ambition deep over the horizon, a trench to the center of the earth. 

Law should be doing his own training; he’s there to work out, nominally at least. Watching Zoro does not automatically make him a better swordsman, but it makes him want to be better, to do better, that though he rarely goes against an opponent blade-to-blade makes him grip the hilt of his sword as if, different shape and different body and different ability, he’s going to make to do the same. 

Perhaps, he decides, another day; he leans Kikoku against the wall. Zoro finds a stopping place, pours half a bottle of water into his mouth, and then catches Law’s eye.

“Can I have a look at your sword?”

“Sure,” says Law. “It’s cursed, though.”

Zoro resheathes the one of his he’s been practicing with, the one he seems to favor most. “Yeah, I could tell.”

Law picks up Kikoku, hefts it in his hand, and holds it out. Zoro takes it with both hands and turns it over several times, looking at the scabbard and the designs on the hilt, fitting first one hand and then the other around it, as finding the right grip for the weight and balance. Though it’s long, it’s heavier than it looks, but Zoro seems to have expected the weight, or perhaps he’s so used to lifting heavier things that it doesn’t make a difference. The curse, too, seems to have decided it won’t affect him--or that it can’t, or perhaps won’t bother trying. 

“Kind of a lazy sword,” Zoro says.

Law feels his mouth curling into a smile; that’s exactly it. “Yeah.”

“You have to work with it a bit, huh?” He unsheathes Kikoku in one motion, the blade flashing as if in a field full of snow in the too-bright overhead lights. 

Again, he turns the sword in his hand, looking this way and that at the blade, then glaring at it until apparently satisfied, when he plunges it back into the scabbard to the hilt.

“Nice blade. It works well for you.”

“Not you?” Law says, frowning at the appraisal--of course Kikoku’s a nice blade, lazy and cursed and all.

“Well,” says Zoro. “I’d never use a sword that long. And I’d want a little more raw cutting power.”

He touches the middle blade on his belt as he says that, his own cursed sword, a little more obviously malevolent than Kikoku. Zoro follows Law’s gaze down to it.

“Kitetsu doesn’t play as nicely as yours does. Want to give it a try?”

Law gets the feeling that he really ought not to, that perhaps to Zoro the cutting power is all good and worth it (and perhaps the curse is a selling point, the danger the point of pride, of knowing the dice are loaded against you and rolling confident in your win). It’s not for him, even to try. He shakes his head, but Zoro seems unsurprised.

“You’re strong, though,” he says. “I think you could handle it.”

His knuckles brush against Law’s when he hands Kikoku back, and Law waits before retracting his hand.

* * *

From the insides of a submerged submarine, night or day doesn’t change the lighting or the temperature, but knowing that it’s night makes all the difference. The shadows of the light fixtures on the riveted walls are the same as they were when Law had left his room in the morning to go to breakfast, but they seem longer when he looks at them now, as if some unseen sun is just behind the horizon invisible in the murky depths outside the submarine.

It’s been only a handful or two of days since he’d seen the night sky, and it won’t be too many more; if they don’t reach Wano by then they’ll have to stop somewhere for supplies. Law thinks again of that night off the coast of Dressrosa, the clouds and stars bright and stark against the night sky, sweaty hands and mugs, Zoro’s hand fisted in his collar, fingertips brushing against his skin. 

Thinking of someone does not summon them to your side, but Law turns the corner of the hallway, the last before his quarters, and finds, at the opposite end of this stretch, Zoro. He’s probably lost again, not that there’s anything particularly complex about the  _ Polar Tang _ ’s layout. Or, perhaps, Zoro is intentionally waiting; his expression gives away very little. Even when they’ve been alone here they’ve avoided talking about Dressrosa, and Law has restrained himself, but right now it’s as if he’s steered himself straight into a high wind from a calm belt, that his feelings are pouring out and overboard, that he wants. 

Law’s reached the doorway; he tilts his head toward it in invitation and Zoro unfolds his arms and walks straight to him. When he reaches the door, Law’s hand is still on the handle. Just as he releases it, his knee propping the door open, Zoro reaches for his hand. He thumbs over the back of Law’s knuckles, and Law shoves the door the rest of the way open and backs in, pulling Zoro with him. Law breathes in the Zoro’s scent, the soap and shampoo they all use on the submarine, slowly-oxidizing metal, the sake from the back of the liquor cabinet. 

The imprints of his mouth on Law’s neck and ears don’t last the night; Law turns as best he can the next morning when he shaves, staring into the mirror to see no bruises, no indents, no visible reminders, just the ghost of a feeling. Maybe he can’t see it because he’s been soaked too thoroughly in all of Zoro, that his feelings have saturated him through and he can’t discern where they end.

* * *

It takes everyone time to get used to standing on shore after the sea. But falling asleep without the motion of the tide under or around him has always been worse for Law than the momentary shakiness in his legs or the oddness of the ground under his feet. More often than not lately, Law’s had too much to do and to think about for it to get to him like this, but the first night they spend in Wano he wakes up several hours after having finally fallen asleep. The night is too hot, too humid, nothing like the dry balance of the submarine and its overshared air. They are far from the shore, and the ground is steady underneath him. The moonlight filters through the broken wall, throwing acute patterns on the floor and on the cover Law’s kicked halfway off. 

His legs itch in the heat. He’s a little thirsty, but they need to preserve their water. He’ll be fine. Next to him, Zoro is out cold, seemingly unbothered by the changes. The deep furrow in his brow has faded in sleep, a soft impression left behind; Law won’t wake him. (Though, he sleeps so often during the day, maybe he should--but, no, someone ought to be sleeping well right now if any of them can.)

* * *

Wano’s climate varies, but the area where they’re staying remains the same as the first night, the humidity coming in an endless wave that refuses to break, flies and mosquitos that they’re constantly slapping away, a stickiness that clings to them like touching the flesh of a ripened fruit. Zoro keeps awake most nights, watching the darkness under the weak porch light, and Law joins him most evenings until he falls asleep, wakes up leaning against Zoro or lying on top of him, Zoro’s arm draped over him, the heat from Zoro’s body and the air somehow letting him sleep.

All of this passing between the two of them should be too fast too soon too much, an impulse leading to twisting and ripping, pulling a ribbon until Law’s unwound it all from the spool, but the ribbon just keeps coming, tangling itself around his hands and arms, wrapping tightly but without leaving indents in his arms, without impeding his ability to move, to breathe. Logically, it should all flame out and stop, burn itself out too quickly like a busted firework, shouldn’t it? Or shouldn’t it have done that already, if it was going to? Perhaps that’s based on faulty assumptions, like that there had really been nothing before Zoro had dropped his arm around Law’s shoulders and leaned in, before Zoro’s hand had brushed his, before they’d dragged each other off to a corner of that ship to be alone. If he thinks about it too long, he’ll end up chasing the wrong thing the wrong way and lose the objective--but what is the objective here? Does he need to have one? Does he need this to be something other than what it is, time spent, time shared, with someone whose company he enjoys?

They haven’t talked about it really, but Law’s mouth stumbles on the words; he trips on the uncertainty of the need for the conversation, the substance of it, the questions around which he’s circling, but too far away to get a good target, to slice through to the heart of them. Zoro, too, seems in no hurry to say anything, but he’s got a better grip on the whole of it, that it fits in his hand more naturally than in Law’s, the same way a sword does. 

“You know the plan?” Law says, again.

“Yes,” says Zoro, his eye narrowing, but humoring Law anyway. “I’m a ronin in the Flower Capital. My name is Zorojuro. I won’t attack anyone. We’ll reconvene at the earliest signal, when Luffy gets here or when the Fire Festival happens.”

Hearing him recite the words once more, over again, does nothing to quell the tightness in Law’s chest or the ache in his clenched jaw. Something will go wrong; Zoro not following the plan is just what he’s fixated on right now, perhaps because it’s the one he feels like he might be able to fix by checking and rechecking, again and again. The Scabbards are set; Law can count on his crew. Without their leader, perhaps the Straw Hats are less likely to abandon the plan; he has, after all, been accompanied by some of the more sensible ones, and he would include Zoro in those numbers, except--his tendency to think so far outside the norm as to seem in a different dimension, to attract attention wherever he goes (even in a country cut off from the world, he moves so distinctively)--maybe right now Law’s so tense anything would push him over the edge. 

Zoro takes his hand, and Law nearly flinches away; the pulse in his thumb beats against Zoro’s palm.

“I know the plan. Even if things get difficult, or if our cover gets blown, I’ll know what to do.”

Law clenches his jaw. 

“It’s not like I’m not also aware that things could change,” says Zoro, which is a way of talking around saying that he’s worried, too.

Law scrapes his nails lightly over Zoro’s palm. Perhaps Zoro’s anxieties aren’t as tied up in the plan--his words always drifting over toward the other half of his crew, somewhere else, his unwavering faith in Straw Hat mixed with, despite that, his fear for him and for the others. Something else, maybe, below his surface, under which Law hasn’t yet submerged himself. Zoro thumbs over Wado’s hilt, the sword he seems to trust the most. Soon, this phase of waiting will give way to another, and as abruptly as they’d come together--in every sense of it--they’ll be apart once more, if still tied together loosely, as far as they can wander.

So much is left to do, aside from worrying. Law only wants to spend this time with Zoro, as long as they have it, the rope of an anchor that lets them remain in water just so deep, until the tide comes in. They’ve never talked about this ending, but they’ve never talked about it going anywhere. In lives like theirs, there’s hardly room for stasis, though.

Zoro smacks an insect on his knee, his skin sticky with sweat. His kimono is open; there is sweat on his chest, too, and when he sits up straight, that long diagonal scar is somehow more prominent in the low light. 

Law leans in, one foot hooking around Zoro’s ankle, Zoro’s mouth breaking into a near-smile before it meets his.

* * *

They are reunited and separated again before Law has time to get over his annoyance and worry, to yell at Zoro for screwing up the plan when it was really Straw Hat’s fault more than his--but the situation is fragile, their plan wobbling like a plate on the edge of the table, and Law’s too far away from it to stick his hand out and grab it to stop it from falling, if it will. And that worry gives way to more of the same (though of course Law knows that Zoro will be fine, he’s not here) and then that gives way to Law’s own annoyance at himself the longer Zoro is away. It’s like an itch he’d been able to ignore, under too many layers of clothing, avoidable when they’d beens separated before by all the other things on Law’s mind and the notion that they’d follow the plan and be reunited. Now that assurance has been blown up, he can’t ignore it. It’s easy for the other Straw Hats, and their new companions, not to think twice; they know Zoro too well or not well enough. 

There are many reasons for Law to leave when he does. Spitefully, he’ll let all of those people think their lack of faith in his crew is the only reason if they will. It’s part of it, as is the fear for what he’s let become of them, the weight of his responsibility as a captain. The lack of a good backup plan, now that all of theirs have been swept away in a wave. His personal failure, like sand between his teeth. Zoro being here wouldn’t make much of a difference, if any; his crew would still be missing, Straw Hat still imprisoned, doubt still thick in the air.

* * *

The splashes of blood on Zoro’s face and arms, left from the battle, have long since dried; his injuries have long since been bandaged. Judging from the hue of the sky, it’s been several hours since the end of the battle, but the time’s all smudged together in Law’s head like cheaply-printed pages submerged in the sea, all the fighting and reconvening and treating people and exchanging bits and pieces of information and condolences, running on adrenaline and automation. The rest of them in the area--most of Law’s crew, a few of the other Straw Hats, some of the rest of their allies--are asleep or close to it, but for once Zoro looks as if he doesn’t want to sleep, can’t, won’t.

He’s staring into the distance at a fixed point, eye hardened into iron. THis expression doesn’t change when Law sits down between him and Bepo; Zoro barely seems to register it. He’d fought well, and no amount of stubborn competitiveness will let Law not acknowledge that. Saying it out loud won’t help, though; Zoro knows it, too, but he still holds one of Kin’emon’s swords, pressed into his hand, hilt soaked in blood, stained as in rust. The Scabbards had been prepared to die for their cause; their deaths had not been in vain. Zoro knows this much, too. He has never seemed to Law a man unfamiliar with the face of death.

Law had been prepared to die for revenge, too, not so long ago, and he had not. Preparing for and accepting death does not make it inevitable in that particular moment. But pirates aren’t supposed to care about saving people. If you care too much you’ll only end up blaming yourself forever, though would saying that to Zoro make Law a hypocrite? (That’s different, or maybe it’s not.) Zoro doesn’t need to hear the harshness of the situation; he doesn’t need something to soften it, either. He needs to pull himself out of this, but he needs to realize how far inward he’s turned.

Law clears his throat. “Zoro-ya.”

Zoro turns at his name, fractionally; his shoulders and jaw remain set, tense like a halyard pulled too taut.

“Rest.”

Law stoops his shoulder, offering it out but advancing no further. They won’t get much sleep now, but trying is better than staying awake, keeping a stubborn vigil of nothing. Zoro shifts, leaning against Law; Law wraps his arm around Zoro’s waist and pulls him in closer. All of him’s tense. Zoro’s coat is stiff-dried with blood. Law pulls his hat down over his eyes, and then sleep hits him like free fall.

When he wakes, the sun is high overhead. His shirt is wet; Zoro’s drooling on his chest, asleep soundly still, and Bepo is hesitating about getting up and moving. Law carefully leans forward, and Bepo murmurs a quiet apology. 

“No trouble,” Law says, his face fixed on Zoro’s.

* * *

They have every reason to part ways here, and every reason to stay together. There is the matter of the Poneglyphs, the matter of the information that Law’s cobbled together, to fit with the information that Nico Robin knows (and, though Straw Hat really doesn’t care about it all too deeply, there are things he might know and not have mentioned, or things he could be helpful for). There is Zoro, standing next to him under the overhang. It is not at all like when they’d left Dressrosa with different feelings hanging in the air; this time Zoro is the more injured one, though already mostly healed, and this time the Marine presence is too small, moving too much in the shadows, to drive them out right away, and they are not confined to a small house with an uncertain route to their ships.

It’s rained here every day since the Fire Festival, soaking through the ground, as if the sky’s making an effort to dilute or wash away the poison deeply ingrained in the soil and the rivers. Wano is still celebrating Kaido’s downfall, and their allies with it. The weather only fuels the celebration further; confined to the indoors, everyone feeds off the energy of everyone else. Right now, the rain is steady; the thunder rolls in the distance and the lightning flashes ten or fifteen seconds later, like the light of battle on a blade, far away. Zoro’s fingers sway, occasionally brushing Law’s, until Law grasps them firmly in his, his thumb tapping against Zoro’s. Zoro’s been acting a little clingy, like when they’d first gotten here--perhaps because there’s space for him to do it, perhaps just because he wants to make his intentions clearer.

Perhaps he wants to let Law go as little as Law wants to let him go. Perhaps he’s also bitten back the impulse to say, come with me, stay with me, chasing from his chest up through his throat, over and over again. Law swallows, another time over, and Zoro’s eye moves to his neck. Another crack of thunder sounds, closer, as if the clouds are being parted with an excess of friction. He can’t ask Zoro that, can’t put him in that position and make him say no, ask him to toss aside the set of intentions that make up a root system ingrained so deeply within him. Law couldn’t say yes if Zoro were to ask him those questions, but he knows, also, that Zoro wouldn’t, for the same reasons that Law can’t ask.

“This doesn’t have to be it,” says Zoro. 

“I know,” Law says, and despite already knowing that it doesn’t, and that Zoro wants him, it’s as if Zoro saying that has released something squeezing around his chest. “I don’t want it to be.”

Zoro smiles, a brief flash, like the lighting, like a sudden wave at the shoreline. 

The days they have to be together, here, are falling away faster, like the rain from the clouds, and after that both of their destinations are unknown, but for now--they have a little more, until whenever the next time is. The rain pours down heavier, faster; Law draws back from the edge of the overhang, tugging at Zoro’s hand. Law brings his other hand up to cup Zoro’s chin, brush the ends of his earrings; they sound against each other like a handful of coins, like the rain on the roof. Zoro’s thumb smooths across Law’s collar, brushing past the side of his neck, and Law instinctively chases it, leaning his head over. Zoro smiles again, steadier this time, and his thumb catches the side of Law’s ear.

* * *

Their time running out is less a function of being pushed out by the presence of more World Government representatives and more of them being pirates, people of the sea, away from the open ocean for far too long. The Kid Pirates have already left, after vowing to be the ones to reach the end of the Grand Line first, and Law can feel the restlessness in his crew, and among the Straw Hats. Planning still needs to be done, or as much as can be done with these people; their alliance may be formally finished, having achieved its goal, but their next objectives are entwined.

Nico Robin carefully removes the bookmark in her notebook and smooths over the page. From the opposite side of the table, Law really can’t read her cramped handwriting upside down, though knowing her that’s probably intentional.

“What do you know about Marshall D. Teach?”

“Not very much,” says Law. “Do you think he has a Poneglyph?”

She purses her lips. “I don’t know. I’m just having some difficulty fitting him into all this.”

Law nods. “Fair enough.”

“I want to fight him,” says Straw Hat. “He’s definitely strong, and even if he doesn’t have a Poneglyph, he’s the guy who beat Ace.”

“He is strong,” says Law. “Do you have a plan to beat him?”

“No,” say several of the Straw Hats in unison.

Bepo bows his head gloomily next to Law, and begins to stutter an apology for the mood, and Law holds up his hand.

“Well, it’s in my interest to go against him in the future, too,” says Law. “Do you wish to continue the alliance?”

“We never stopped being friends,” says Straw Hat, and--Law supposes he’d walked right into that one.

“All of this only worked because all of us were allied,” says Jimbei. “We won’t be able to do this alone either.”

Law takes a breath. “Even with allies, this won’t be easy. And I’ve been meaning to do some things—”

“Finding the Poneglyphs, right, Robin told me,” Straw Hat interrupts. “But those will help us fight that guy, right?”

“I don’t know,” says Law. 

“We’re not planning on attacking him right away,” says Nami, and--okay, that’s good, but also when has Straw Hat stuck to the plan? “He’s considerably farther along the Grand Line, and we’re also looking for the other Red Poneglyphs.” 

“What about the ninja, and the Mink tribe?” says Law. “And the other pirates?”

“The ninja and the Minks already said they’d help when we fight him. Marco, too. Dunno about Spikey or that dinosaur guy, though I guess not if he’s with the Marines.”

Eustass would be a harder sell, so Law’s not particularly surprised about that--still, though. Law thinks, again, of Doflamingo, felled by Straw Hat’s blow, of the birdcage in Dressrosa expanding instead of annihilating inwards, of Kaido’s blood spilling over the ground and of his exposed ribcage, of the children on Punk Hazard. Plans or no plans, the Straw Hats always seem to make things work out. And even if they didn’t, would Law want to say no?

“I’ll be there too,” says Law. 

His eyes flicker over to Zoro, next to Straw Hat. Zoro’s not the only reason he’d be there, or that he wants to continue this alliance, for all its difficulties. But he is a reason. And, when he looks back at Law, holding his gaze, it’s clear he knows it.

* * *

The last few days in Wano go by quickly in a rush to do things, to plan things. Law’s pulled from one thing to another, from his preparations to leave and gather all the information he can find to people asking him for medical advice (no matter how often he reminds them that he’s a pirate, not a public health official) to Eustass giving him another long-winded speech about how they really aren’t allies, so don’t get the wrong idea.

When he can get a spare moment, though, Law heads off to the crow’s nest of the  _ Sunny, _ mostly to stare into space and let himself catch up to his thoughts and to be with Zoro. Despite Zoro’s lingering injuries, he’s already lifting more than he had been when they’d sailed to Dressrosa--how long ago was that? It feels almost like years, before they’d known each other at all, before any of this had been something he could have imagined. The weights are larger, longer, and Zoro lifts them faster, though at a steady pace for every set. It’s as if he sees his time window shrinking--or, no, Law recognizes that particular set of his shoulders and of his jaw, the same as he’d looked right after the battle in Wano.

Of course he’s still thinking about the Fire Festival, of what the deepest, sharpest cuts cannot bring back. Death always has a way of announcing its presence and then staying in sight, its face unavoidable until you pretend to be used to it. But would the weight of that, combined with the weight of Zoro’s existing expectations add up to something Zoro can’t carry? Law has heard, from so many people, that he worries too much, and Zoro is the kind of person who people don’t tend to worry about. But that makes it seem a little more necessary here.

Zoro finishes up his set and sits down next to Law, drying his neck roughly with a towel and then flexing his hands, his palms red and sweaty.

“Where’s your crew headed next?”

“I don’t know,” Law says. “We’re still figuring that out.”

(They have a few potential starting points on their search, a few hints at threads that could just be lying loose, but could lead to something else unraveling--they hadn’t had much to go on until they’d gotten here, until the festival really, and he has so much yet to consider.)

“Yeah, we are too,” says Zoro. 

(Maybe, Law hopes for a second, along the same route for a time--though they’ll each be in their own ships, and they’ll see each other again soon enough regardless; their lines of communication are open and their calendars are marked for a time in the future to discuss their findings. And Law has a piece of Straw Hat’s vivre card, and Straw Hat has a piece of Bepo’s.)

Zoro looks back to the weight, then to Law, as if he can’t decide between them--but who would have him?

“I need to get better,” Zoro says, wiping sweat from his cheek with his elbow.

He resumes lifting with one arm, the other finding its way to Law’s thigh. The sweat from his hand soaks into Law’s pants, leaving behind an outline of Zoro’s palm that dries quickly in the sun.

* * *

The first lead Law follows on the Poneglyphs is a complete bust, an empty cave with skeletons in a trap long-sprung and nothing else, even behind the walls. The second is some contact who Jean Bart knows from back when he was a cabin boy years ago, but they don’t turn up anywhere near their last known location and there are smarter things to do than try and search the entirety of the New World for someone who may not be there and may not know anything, at least at this point. There is time on the long voyage to fully get into the habits of being on the  _ Polar Tang _ with just the crew again, to read medical journals and repair their machinery, to exist together, all of them.

There is also time to think about Zoro, out on the open sea or perhaps having made landfall again, no doubt in the middle of causing trouble (or, more likely, Straw Hat causing trouble and Zoro following him in without a second glance). Sometimes, Law holds the small piece of Straw Hat’s vivre card, waving in a direction, he’s not sure which without a compass on hand, but Zoro’s bound to be close by Straw Hat, wherever he is. (Is he looking at Bepo’s vivre card? Is he engaged in battle? Is he asleep on the deck, swords within reach?) Their next rendezvous with the Straw Hats is in a few weeks’ time, and there’s no reason to risk a dendenmushi call where they are, nothing to report. He’d like to hear Zoro’s voice, be able to imagine him more clearly, the receiver in his palm, his fingers bent around it like the top of a glass whose contents he’s tipped down his throat.

It’s not as if Law’s drinking alone here, or doing anything else alone. It’s good to be back with the crew, but he’s grown too used to Zoro near him so quickly, around a corner or drinking in the galley or napping a few meters away. It had been the same when they were separated in Wano, his absence obvious and gnawing. Zoro had told him, just before he’d left, to take care of himself, gravity written on his face that had made Law stop himself before retorting that of course he would.

They receive the newspaper when they surface next; Law’s initial thought when he sees the Straw Hats mentioned is that they’ve gone back on their word. But that would be a bigger headline, and they haven’t fought with anyone associated with Blackbeard. They’ve skirmished with the remnants of Big Mom’s forces on the outskirts of her territory again; Zoro’s bounty has once again increased. It doesn’t matter very much to Law, but to Zoro it does, and though congratulating him for it isn’t the greatest excuse to give him a call, Law nearly picks up the receiver and dials. There’s no mention of any injury in the article, but that doesn’t mean he’s not hurt. But he could be. 

He doesn’t need an excuse to call, perhaps, but more than talking to Zoro he wants to share space with him, be next to him, feel the warmth of his skin from a centimeter away, bump his shoulder, see his smile break in a wave on top of another wave, the water skimming over itself. Calling wouldn’t help with that, might make it worse. And maybe he shouldn’t, since he doesn’t have to; the call could be intercepted, their location and motives triangulated from the signals and the words they say and don’t say. Law looks away from the sleeping dendenmushi, back to the paper; there might be a better clue to a Poneglyph, and even in the likely event that there is not, it’s always good to know what’s going on in the world. He turns over the page to finish the article, cups the top of his coffee mug to stop it from spilling when Shachi bumps into the table, and clicks his tongue when the coffee splashes his hand.

Law supposes it would be tempting fate to say that’s the most danger he’s likely to be in all day. In the New World, as a well-known pirate, that’s never really true, even from the depths of the ocean in his submarine. An abandoned library that may or may not contain Poneglyph rubbings is, on the surface, less risk than usual, though.

He turns out to be correct in that assumption; he and Penguin are out in two hours the copy of the rubbing in bad condition but easily stuffed inside Law’s jacket. It’s almost too good to be true, but for now Law won’t question it. They needed the break.

* * *

Despite the smears and the tears in the paper, Nico Robin deciphers the rubbing well enough and seems happy to have it.

“It’s not one I’ve seen before,” she says. “Though, it talks more about the capabilities of Pluton. It’s useful to have, but not directly so, unfortunately.”

“Thank you, regardless,” says Law. “Hopefully the next one we find will be of more use.”

She inclines her head. “There are only so many.”

If it’s meant to put Law at ease, it doesn’t work. The number of Poneglyphs in existence is finite, so theoretically finding them all should be feasible. But if the most important one is lost or broken or unobtainable, then will they be able to fill in the gaps? The information is likely in the Red Poneglyphs, but what if it isn’t, or what if it’s been broken off from them, the information irrelevant to the Poneglyphs’ navigational use? He won’t do what’s written simply because it says he must, but he’d rather know what it means, even if he chooses not to follow it. If he can escape it. But what of Straw Hat’s brother and grandfather, then? They seem to have, perhaps, escaped, in death and in following the World Government--though again, too much is missing. 

He wants to stop thinking about it for now, let it percolate in his brain for a bit, but that’s not something he can make himself do, apparently, despite how much he wants to let it go, just for a bit, to savor the tiny bit of time he has right now with Zoro. Law tries, again, orders himself to think about Zoro’s hand in his, the stretch of shore on which they’re walking, their boats anchored a little ways out.

“You’re overthinking again,” Zoro says, cocking his head to the side as if changing the angle of his eye will let him see inside Law’s head, though he’s most of the way there already anyway.

“I want to enjoy this time with you,” Law says, and his voice comes out more petulant than he’d like, and he wonders about the words--but Zoro rights his head and rubs the back of his neck.

“Okay.”

He gets it, all the layers of explanation Law doesn’t have to say or bother wrapping his sentence in (because it’s not that Law isn’t enjoying this, not that he finds Zoro unsatisfying). Zoro grabs his hand and tugs him closer to the water.

“Let’s go in.”

“I can’t swim,” says Law.

“I know,” says Zoro. “We can just wade.”

Law hesitates, but follows Zoro in rolling up the legs of his pants and leaving his boots behind on the empty beach, catching his hand again as they walk down to the receding water, continuing until their footsteps sink in the saturated sand. Another wave comes up as Law is used to the texture under his feet, and the sea rushes up to their ankles, barely high enough to cover Zoro’s scars. The way the light hits off the wavering surface of the water makes the lines of the stitches seem more faded than they are. Zoro steps in a little further, but Law digs his toes into the soft sand. This much water is already deep to him. The waves splash at their legs, bringing in small translucent fish, flashes of movement out of the corners of Law’s eyes. Zoro leans down, scooping with his hand, and coming up with a palm full of water and no fish. Again he dips his hand down, the tide pushing against it but the fish avoiding him.

Again, Zoro tries, and again after that, but his hand moves too slowly through the water each time. He’s like a kid at a festival, doggedly persistent, chasing fish after fish with too many escape routes until finally he manages to bring one out in his cupped palms, hold it up to Law with just enough water for the fish to remain submerged. 

As soon as he drops his hands down into the water lets it go, another wave crashes down on top of them, bringing the water level nearly up to their knees. Law half-stumbles; the bottoms of his pants are soaked despite his efforts to keep them dry, and as the water pulls back again he shivers. 

“Should we go back?” says Zoro.

Law shakes his head.

Zoro looks tired, Law realizes from this angle. It’s easier to see under the sunlight, the depths of his yawn, until he pops his jaw, and how he catches himself against Law’s shoulder, looks up at him. 

“Sleeping okay?” says Law.

“I am,” says Zoro. 

He leans against Law’s shoulder again, still looking at him, though it can’t be too comfortable for his neck. 

“There’s a lot to do,” he says, and Law thinks back to right before they’d left Wano, the urgency in his face and shoulders and arms as he’d lifted more and more weight. 

“I’m not going to burn myself out,” Zoro continues. “But I wish I could get better faster.”

He’s at the asymptotic limit, where more effort yields less of a result; he knows this well enough. Law holds him tighter, pressing his hands into the tension in Zoro’s back, no good for someone so reliant on his physical body. 

Zoro’s hands are wet and cold from the ocean; Law shouldn’t want Zoro to touch his shirt with them and soak that through, but he’s not really thinking about that when Zoro’s on tiptoes kissing him, almost toppling both of them over when the next wave comes in.

They dry out under the sun as they walk back to the bay, and Law only realizes he’d stopped worrying at all when Zoro drops his hand for a moment to stuff his feet back into his boots. The bottoms of Law’s pants are dry in that stiff way that feels half-incorrect, as if left on a hot pipe in the winter. The sun’s dropped lower in the sky, a hand going around the clock, reminding him of the time he’s spent turning up mostly empty spaces, but he lets it all wash out from under him as if the bottoms of his boots are sieves and grabs Zoro’s hand back.

* * *

The next time they meet the Straw Hats, right on schedule, Law has nothing to report. 

“Yeah, I’ve got nothing either,” says Straw Hat. “Unless--nah, I don’t.”

Law scans the faces of Straw Hat’s companions; they all shake their heads. Are they keeping something from him? No, it was probably inconsequential, he decides, or one of them will let it slip at some point. 

“We’re staying on this island anyway, though,” says Straw Hat. “We need to make some ship repairs. So it’s totally fine if you want to stay and hang out.”

“We were going to stay already,” says Law. “My crew needs a day on shore.”

“Great!” says Straw Hat, and he’s already tugging Bepo over toward his boat. 

Bepo seems to enjoy the attention, so Law won’t let it bother him too much. He adjusts his hat. The members of his crew are already mingling with the Straw Hats, and Penguin’s already gotten several of them to agree to go to a tavern with him. Uni is talking with the Straw Hats’ shipwright about something. 

He doesn’t notice that Zoro’s beside him until Zoro drops an arm around his shoulders. 

“Hey,” he says. “Let’s go for a walk?”

In the depths of winter on a summer island, the chill in the air is not quite bitter. The leaves cling to the deciduous trees a small way inland, yellowing at the edges in a way that Law could mistake for the angle of the sunlight. Zoro buttons his coat higher; Law jams one hand into his pocket, his sword in the crook of his elbow. The town is not particularly lively; they wander through quiet streets, past children playing solemnly on the sidewalk, into the outskirts, signposts pointing to a farm and another town. Ahead of them stretches a dirt row, sparse fields, and on the farthest horizon mountains. There’s no aim as to where they’re going, no reason, just walking the ocean out of their legs, staring into the strange emptiness and the expanse of the land.

They check into the first inn they find back in town. Their room has a large, fresh bed iand real windows and curtains, meant to be temporary but much closer to the way Law had spent his early childhood, a building rooted to the ground, than it is to the way he lives now. It’s an odd stray thought to be having, and he tucks it away while fumbling with the curtains to close them, shutting away the street. Zoro toes the carpet with bare feet, sitting on the bed. His coat is open, even below the belt that’s loose around his waist from where Law had tugged at it to stop him going down the wrong path from a clearing earlier, and, fuck. 

It’s easy to imagine a fantasy of the two of them fastened together, not with their feet buried deep in earth to the point of immovability but wound around each other like rope tangled around an anchor, instead of crashing together like waves over and over, each pulled by a different tidal force. They are not particularly complicated people; their situations are not layered and overly nuanced, but pulling away from each other, or across and over as the rigging of a ship--but shouldn’t that knot together at some point?

It’s only a fantasy, and Law can imagine that plenty well when he’s alone; right now he has Zoro, right in front of him, Zoro’s wave seeping into his, Zoro’s mouth tasting of grilled meat and dry sake, his nose, a little cold in the air, bumping against Law’s. He lets Law push him back on the bed, pin his wrists to the sheets, denting the mattress temporarily; he lets Law trace, slowly, over the uneven scar on his chest--a clean cut, but it looks like it had been half-healed and re-stitched--knowing Zoro, it had, and there’s a story as simple as a stronger opponent and refusing to rest, as complicated as a million spinning factors and attention turned at the wrong time, mixed with bad advice and life-or-death circumstance, behind it. Like what were once puncture wounds on Zoro’s right shoulder, nearly healed over, hard to see except by the right angle in the right light, but Law’s seen them before. He kisses each one, until the last when Zoro raises his knee and flips them over, landing on Law’s stomach, leaning into Law’s freed-up mouth and kissing him long and low and sweet. 

Zoro twists the buttons on Law’s shirt out of their holes, one, two, three, until it’s open enough for him to trace his fingers over the tattoo on Law’s chest until he reaches Law’s nipples, tweaks each one. He lowers his head down to suck on the right, sliding his ass back down as he does, right over Law’s groin. Law makes a sound, maybe a whimper or a groan, out of his mouth too soon for him to classify it or even hear it as Zoro sucks on his nipple, tweaks the other, and Law realizes his hands are doing nothing. He reaches up to grope Zoro’s ass, so firm under his fingers. He slips his hands under Zoro’s haramaki, finding the waistband of Zoro’s pants, smooth skin under that. Zoro’s mouth slackens for a second on Law’s nipple, and then he sits up, his face a little flushed, his lips parted. Law’s hands pause where they are, right above Zoro’s ass, just to look at him, how fucking gorgeous he looks, messy and wild-eyed, his nipples hard, the slightly angled mirror of the way he looks straight from a fight, a methodical intensity with plenty of edge but here a softness, a willingness to give, and all of it focused on Law. A trite comparison, perhaps, but the only one Law can make now--though, really, Zoro is always solely like himself. 

Zoro leans back down, raising his ass off of Law’s thighs, pressing his nose against Law’s.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” Law echoes. “You--”

His breath is caught under his tongue; the words in his throat are not adequate.

“Yeah, I know,” Zoro says. 

Law runs his hands up under Zoro’s open coat and Zoro sits back, his weight settling on Law’s thighs again. Law’s right hand pauses on skin that feels too smooth, unexpectedly, a new scar, a wound healed but not old; he frowns. Zoro frowns back at him, and Law moves his hand--is that the price for the raised bounty that Zoro craves so much? Hadn’t he read about that in the paper so long ago? But the age of the wound feels about right for that, and it’s really been that long since Law’s seen this much of Zoro, and he doesn’t want to think about that now. Zoro grinds their hips together and it’s easy to let that idea fall away like a piece of paper drifting out in the tide for the moment. Zoro pulls his coat off, and Law takes the opportunity to undo the rest of his shirt and wriggle out of it, and when Zoro turns to the side, Law gets a decent look at the scar. It’s already fading. When Law brings his hands up again, he brushes over it gently with the pad of his thumb, and then brings his hands together right over the scar on Zoro’s chest again. 

At least, whatever those circumstances, Zoro had survived it mostly intact. Zoro leans over Law’s shoulder, his mind perhaps on something similar. He kisses the edge of the scar on Law’s upper arm, where it had been severed in Dressrosa, just at the break in his tattoo. Law closes his eyes.

Zoro grinds against him again, oh, fuck; Law hisses and then reaches down to fumble with the button on Zoro’s pants. He brushes over the length of Zoro’s cock through the fabric, and Zoro shudders like a cat and moans. Law does it again, slower. Zoro’s breath comes heavy and uneven, and Law raises his own hips, desperate for more contact. Through his clothes, it’s not enough, and can’t be enough for Zoro, either; the small and petulant frown on his face says as much. Law smiles at it.

“Tease,” Zoro says, not without affection.

“You take it well,” says Law, ghosting his hands over the front of Zoro’s pants again.

Zoro reaches down to undo the fly, and Law watches, until Zoro’s about to pull out his cock himself. Law reaches out a hand, his right hand, then. Zoro’s cock is hard and hot in his hand, and the sound from Zoro’s mouth is a damn good reward. Law could sit here and slowly jerk him off, and the prospect is appealing, seeing every small shift in Zoro’s face as he gets closer and closer to coming, the way he shifts and squirms and tries to get Law to go faster, but Zoro’s reaching down into Law’s pants, without bothering to undo fly, and Law sucks in his breath. 

Law rolls them over onto their sides, pushing his cock against the calluses on Zoro’s palm, and fuck, that feels so good. It’s easier like this, to tangle their legs together, to hold onto each other, face to face, but still a good angle for Law to lightly bite Zoro’s ear, kiss the side of his jaw the way he likes. Their hands move in a complementary rhythm; their breaths run ragged; they press closer and closer to each other, until if they were liquid they would meld, even if they were oil and water.

* * *

It’s too quiet and the windows are shut too well; when Law wakes in the middle of the night he can’t fall back asleep right away. He rolls over, sighs, and buries his face in the pillow. It’s uncomfortable; he rolls over again, up against Zoro. As if reflexively, Zoro wraps one arm around Law’s torso and pulls him closer. 

“You’re awake?” Law says.

“Yeah,” Zoro replies, half-yawning. 

The air is cold; despite this, Law is reminded of that first night in Wano, the first of several they’d spent together on shore. They haven’t done that at all since Wano, and it’s to be expected, but it’s a strange realization, sitting like a dry-swallowed pill in Law’s throat. He can’t shake it. Zoro palms his hip like the hilt of a sword before he moves to unsheath it. Law swallows.

“Law,” Zoro says, “Go back to sleep.”

Law’s too stuck on Zoro saying his name to say anything about being ordered around, to say he’s trying or that he wants to. That, this whole time, Zoro’s been calling him by a nickname he’d never wanted, has never been a source of contention, and yet this is so much better.

“Call me by my name more,” Law says.

He covers Zoro’s hand on his hip with his own. This should be too uncomfortable to let him fall asleep, but Law’s eyelids are drooping. He means to speak again, but forgets the words before he can, and loses them in sleep.

* * *

They remain on shore perhaps for longer than they should, but not as long as either of them wants to. Separating is like unsheathing a corroded old sword, a quick graze of Zoro’s mouth against Law’s knuckles, a twist of a smile, not enough words from either of their mouths, and then Ikkaku reminds Law that they really ought to leave and he isn’t looking back over his shoulder at Zoro once more despite the want nearly twisting his neck for him.

A day after they part ways, Law finds himself staring at the vivre card in his hand again, its small flutters toward the source as the  _ Polar Tang _ moves in the opposite direction. He can’t be with Zoro all the time--even if they were in the same place they’d have different things to do; their time would be apportioned differently, and Law doesn’t want to be attached to him like a barnacle on a badly-maintained hull. But if they could weave tighter circles around each other, meet again and again and again in a smaller current, if they could have more shared time, if they could--but neither of them would make an excuse or take one if it was there, unless there was another reason for it. 

But, in those terms, isn’t it saying that Zoro’s not enough by himself? It’s an ugly way of phrasing it, from the wrong point of entry, but--it goes both ways. Zoro is enough, more than that, but everything else is more pressing, more urgent, beyond just the two of them, too much. Law’s whole life until quite recently has been spent pursuing a selfish goal, for selfish ends. There’s nothing more selfish than revenge, no matter who else it may benefit, no matter in whose name it is, no matter what else may happen on the way. Law had never imagined having something beyond that (and before that, as long as he’d been able to conceptualize it all, he’d never allowed himself to have imagined living that long in the first place). But there is something here, now, after revenge, and doesn’t that mean, if he lives through what comes next, that there will be something after that? Time to pursue a different kind of selfish goal, if Zoro wants it too, if they’re both alive and together at the end of all this? 

Is there an end, or will they continue to be pushed on in divergent directions? Will they end up hanging on too long? Is it worth thinking about that far in the future when it’s so distant, over the horizon, beyond the edge of the ocean flattening out in front of them? It is, Law thinks. It’s worth knowing where they’re trying to go, worth telling Zoro what he wants, if he can figure out enough of it to say. He’s closer now to articulating that than he’d been back when they were in Wano, but not yet quite there, fumbling for the answer with semi-certain fingers.

There’s no ideal Law can point to and say he wants, no perfect model to follow with stencils to cut out from a book. He doesn’t want their relationship to remain as it is now in perpetuity, but the path they’re on is so narrow that enumerating all the things they aren’t would be pointless. He can’t see Zoro joining his crew--he’s too loyal to Straw Hat, and Law would never want him as a subordinate, anyway. Neither one of them had set off intending to become a pirate, but neither one of them has any concrete plans to stop that even once they’ve achieved their objectives. But what’s beyond that is too full of unknowns, like trying to operate on something described in the vaguest of terms. The future is too delicate and too far off, if not in time then in mindset, to make sweeping statements. And it still tugs at Law’s thoughts, like a fish on a line. Like Zoro tugging at his hand.

* * *

Law’s next meeting with the Straw Hats is pushed back, sent through the agreed-upon code in the newspaper; he has to call them to move it again after that because he’s chasing yet another piece of information that turns out to be a dead end. When they do finally meet, there is once again nothing to report, but the Straw Hats (and most of Law’s crew as well) will take any excuse to catch up and celebrate. 

They are all too distracted, letting a little too loose, perhaps, which is how they fail to notice the approaching Marine ship until it’s nearly within range. Not that stopping it, even on short notice, will be a problem, not that there’s much of a chance it’ll do much damage (and, later, Law is more annoyed by the Marines and, in turn, the press, having another excuse to associate him with Straw Hat). As good as the Marines are who are assigned to the New World, as many squadrons as they can assemble in a short time, is this anything more for them than a fool’s errand?

But it’s been a while since Law’s had a good fight. Since Wano, actually, and as glad as he is that he’s managed to avoid the Marines and other pirates in his hunt for the Poneglyphs, he doesn’t mind the opportunity here. They’re still too far away to shoot when Law draws his sword; Zoro’s drawing his at the same time. 

“Torao—” Straw Hat starts.

“I’m not taking orders from you,” says Law. 

“I wasn’t going to give you any,” says Straw Hat, and as fucking if. 

Law scowls. “You’re in charge of your crew. I’m in charge of mine.”

Straw Hat laughs, and the first cannon sounds. They’re all more than ready, though. The Straw Hats are deflecting the cannonballs, redirecting them; Law teleports Bepo, Shachi, and Penguin to the Marine shop, and he can see them cutting through the crowd of hapless Marines without a telescope. 

“Captain! Us, too!” Uni shouts.

And just as Law vanishes him and Clione, something hits Law in the cheek. It’s sharp enough to graze him, but not to cut through, and a second later he’s distracted by another cannonball. He feels the blood when it drips down to his chin and he reaches up to swipe across his face. His hand comes away red; it doesn’t hurt and doesn’t feel deep but head wounds always bleed. Shit, he should have been more careful, or whoever was dealing with the shrapnel should have. He looks around the deck, counting heads of his crewmates; they’re all standing. Some of the Straw Hats have made it over to join Law’s crew onboard the Marine ship, and Straw Hat himself looks as if he’s getting ready to stretch himself out and fling himself far. Law won’t let him get there first; he sends himself over instantaneously. 

When he’d gathered the hearts of those hundred Marines, he’d dismembered far more of them in doing so; he knows their formations and attack powers so well now that slipping back six months in his muscle memory takes hardly a moment, as long as it takes for him to raise his sword and begin. Knees, elbows, head, heart, scatter, split down the middle, repeat. He’s got half the Marines left on deck taken down before Straw Hat’s launched his first attack, and in that time Zoro’s taken out most of the rest. 

(Infuriating, on several levels, that Zoro is so efficient but that Law doesn’t have time to watch him, focusing on the rest of the Marines, the few left abandoning all formation and strategy, as much as he’s an extension of Straw Hat, his sword arm as it were. Perhaps it’s better that Law can’t watch, though.)

Law clears out his immediate area, slashing a Marine into three pieces, scattered onto the deck and mingled with the rest, only to turn and see Bepo and Straw Hat each punching out several men, and Shachi clocking the last Marine standing with the hilt of his sword. Zoro is on the far side of the deck, returning the one sword he’d bothered to draw into its sheath. 

Not enough of a fight, Law decides; despite the totality of their victory he’d have liked to go longer. He lifts his hand to his cheek again; the blood hasn’t yet properly dried.

“Captain! Are you hurt?” Bepo’s already heading over, and Law puts up his hand.

“It’s fine. It’ll stop bleeding soon.”

Knowing that everyone’s attention has been drawn to the small cut on his cheek smarts more than the cut does; as soon as Law determines that his crewmembers are all fine and accounted for he makes his way to the bathroom with his first-aid kit to take a look. It’s not worth the medical room, though, looking in the mirror, it does look pretty gruesome. The water stings as he cleans it out, but using his powers to patch it up wouldn’t be worth the effort. 

He’s about to wipe it down with alcohol when the door opens. Zoro.

“Need a hand?”

Law is about to say no, he’s a doctor, but--he swipes across with the alcohol wipe, bites back a yelp when the stinging hits him a second later, and points to the first aid kit on the sink. “You could get me out a bandage and some disinfectant.”

Zoro dutifully rifles through, and Law lets him do the rest. He doesn’t want or need to be taken care of, but their time’s been interrupted and this is worth something. Zoro’s fingers smooth down the edges of the bandage, staying close to Law’s cheek for a minute, and then one of them traces over the shell of Law’s ear. Law turns into the touch, waits for Zoro to withdraw his finger before speaking.

“Wash your hands.”

Zoro doesn’t dry them before touching Law’s face again. They’re cold, both hands at once, and Law can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the sensation. 

“You’re okay, though,” says Zoro.

“Would I not be?” says Law.

* * *

If Law hadn’t received so many similar, scattered pieces of information from unrelated sources on this particular Poneglyph, he would think it was a trap set for him specifically. Deep underwater, accessible only by diving or submarine, right next to a Marine stronghold and heavily patrolled? It’s almost too obvious, though ,and that’s what makes him consider it, and, ultimately, decide to go for it. Trap or no, he’s as certain as he can be that the Poneglyph is actually there, and he’s out of other ideas. 

It’ll be a week where he and his crew can’t contact anyone, and while they’ve been known to go self-sufficiently for much longer, it still makes Law a bit uneasy. Oh, if they’re captured, the government will want to gloat about it as soon as possible, no doubt. They won’t vanish without a trace (not that Law will let them get caught in the first place). It is, perhaps, in their nature as pirates to be annoyed at limitations placed in their way, for understandable reasons or not. 

Law isn’t so much concerned about his crew circumventing this restriction as he is about the dendenmushi ringing. The only people who do contact them that way are the Straw Hats, and it’s a rare occurrence when they can, but Law makes sure to remind them twice over the night before the  _ Polar Tang _ is set to reach the outside of Marine territory. 

He’s reminding himself as much as them, perhaps. Zoro stays on the line a little later, and Law tries to picture him, holding the receiver to his mouth. Is he leaning over a table? Is he sitting alone on the deck? 

“I want to see you,” Law says, too honest by half, before he can stop himself.

“Yeah,” Zoro says, on the other end. “I want to see you, too.”

There’s the divide. They can want; they can say it; it won’t bring them any nearer. It won’t make it any more feasible. It’s only been a couple of weeks since they’d seen each other last, likely at most a few more until they see each other again. It would be better if he had Zoro with him, if he could see Zoro breathing and feel the deck accommodate his shifting weight, if both of them could express themselves in looks and gestures rather than merely words and sounds. If Law could teleport himself over long distances, if he could do it without stressing his body, if, if. What’s the use in hypotheticals that will never come to pass? Saying you would do something if you could carries less meaning if you won’t ever be in a position to back it up than if you will, or if you could. (But if, if somehow in the future they’ll be together more—)

“Don’t die,” says Zoro. “I know you probably won’t, but don’t.”

Law smiles; it’s nice to know Zoro worries about him, too. “Of course I won’t. Try to stay alive yourself.”

* * *

If this is a trap, it’s not a very good one. The Marine patrols are regularly scheduled, easy to slip by and into the underwater cave system. It’s easy to avoid their radar, to get into the Poneglyph at the right time, get a rubbing, and get out. They make their way out over the next few days, a crawling mirror of the first few, moving at precise intervals, the submarine nearly silent and undetectable in the water. The waiting’s worse this time, Law decides, because they have what they need, and they’re on high alert, trying to sense the descent of the Marines before it comes, but it never does.

They surface in neutral waters, an empty sea around them beyond the wide-open hatch. They all crowd through it, a few at a time, to enjoy the fresh air and the view, to let loose a little. Law makes his call to the Straw Hats from the front, while Bepo checks the charts. It should take them about three days to get to the next rendezvous point with the Straw Hats, but they could meet up sooner in the open water if necessary, or even if not. 

The call goes unanswered for five rings, and Law frowns.

“Yes?” It’s Nami, sounding more annoyed than usual.

“This is Law. We’ve gotten what we came for.”

“Great,” says Nami, her voice flat.

“What’s going on?” says Law.

Bepo turns away from his chart.

“We were ambushed by some more of Big Mom’s people last night. It’s mostly the grudge against Jimbei—”

Law’s throat tightens. “Is everything all right?”

“We’re all okay, more or less.”

“What do you mean, more or less?” Law can hear the edge in his own voice; he won’t let himself imagine anything, after all she’d said all of them were more or less okay—

“Give me the receiver, Nami.” That sounds like Jimbei; Law barely knows him--it has to be something serious then, though.

“Things have calmed down and we’re out of danger. Zoro was stabbed in the wrist with a poisoned dagger, but he’ll be fine.”

(Stabbed, Zoro’s been stabbed many times before; that’s the nature of being a swordsman--but poison, and he’ll be fine; he isn’t fine.)

“We’ll be there immediately,” Law says, looking over toward Bepo. “What are your coordinates?”

Bepo nods, rifling through the charts to find the one most appropriate. Their current stock of fuel should be sufficient to get them there, if it’s closer than their planned destination. But if they were attacked, could they have gone far off course? Law barely listens as Jimbei reads the numbers out and Bepo jots them down. The other Straw Hats are saying things in the background that Law can’t pick up, though he catches Zoro’s name a few times.

“Can I talk to him?” Law says. 

“He’s resting just now,” says Jimbei, and Law’s throat constricts further. “I can pass something along for you, though.”

It’s not the same as hearing him speak, though that’s not worth disrupting him if he really needs the rest. But even that wouldn’t bring as much relief as seeing him, touching him, looking at the wound himself. (Zoro heals quickly; the Straw Hats have a good doctor; knowing that doesn’t help.)

“Tell him I’ll be there soon,” Law says.

* * *

Law doesn’t wait for the ladder from the side to come down; he teleports himself to the deck of the  _ Sunny _ immediately, ignoring Shachi’s complaints about how unfair it is and that he should take them with him. Teleportation is enough work on its own; it’s difficult to alight properly on the railing without falling over backwards when his heart is ramming his ribcage like a bull in a blind rage, what if, what if, what if. The sound of his boots on the deck ought to summon whoever’s on watch, but it can’t be Zoro because he’s hurt--but before whoever it is gets over to see him, Zoro emerges from the early morning shadows, awake, upright, whole in one piece--the next thing Law notices is how fresh the bandages on Zoro’s arm look, how carefully he’s holding it, but his face is fine; he’s smiling; he’s standing normally, and fuck. Law hugs him gingerly, not wanting to hurt him further, if Zoro’s got bruises or wounds he can’t see, but Zoro holds him back much, much tighter.

“I’m not fragile,” he says, into Law’s neck, affronted--and Law wants very much to say, yes you are, but Zoro knows already how much of himself is untempered glass, how much of himself he’d prefer to be steel. 

Law holds him tighter, despite that. Zoro smells like blood, like disinfectant, but he feels the same, fits the same against him as ever (no reason why he shouldn’t, but--no guarantee that he would). The pulse in Zoro’s wrist beats normally against Law’s skin. He wants to get a closer look at Zoro’s arm later, but for now all Law really needs to know is that Zoro is really alive and mostly okay, that they’re here together.

“They really made you worry, huh?” says Zoro, and he’s got some fucking nerve saying that when he’s the one who’d gotten hurt in the first place, and Law’s assurance had already been crushed under rolling blades for the last week’s endless anticipation and breath-holding. 

“You made me worry.”

“I told you I wouldn’t die,” says Zoro, and that doesn’t make Law feel any better.

He could have died--not easily, he never would, but he could have died. The poison could have gotten him worse, deeper; it could have gone untreated longer; he could have been stabbed in the stomach, in the head, in the heart. Law still wants to take a look at it under the bandages, see for himself how bad it really is, but that can wait; for now, Zoro’s okay, and he’ll trust in that.

* * *

This Poneglyph rubbing is as inconclusive as the others have been, but Nico Robin says she’ll think about possible interpretations. Law is not as disappointed as he perhaps ought to be, though at least this is another branch cut from the tree and another path explored and eliminated as unimportant. As impatient as this has made him, he doesn’t have room to care too much right now on top of Zoro’s injury and the draining tension of the hours it had taken to reach the Straw Hats. (Later, he’ll probably be annoyed and impatient and feel like it was a waste of time; he knows himself too well to think otherwise.)

That Zoro is the one who asks Law to look at his arm is, in the moment, somewhat of a surprise. The surprise lessens, though, as soon as he brings Law into the Straw Hats’ medical room to find Chopper as irate as Law’s ever seen him.

“I’ve already told you, Zoro. You can take it easy for a couple of weeks; that’s the only way it’ll heal. We’ll be fine.”

Zoro glares back, thrusting his arm in Law’s face. “Can you do something about it? It’s not like I don’t trust Chopper’s judgement. He did a great job at getting the poison out. But you can make wounds heal faster, right?”

Law grabs a pair of examination gloves from the box on the table and drags a small stool over to the first bed with his foot, ignoring the look on Chopper’s face. “I can. But you already heal quickly.”

“Chopper said two weeks.”

“At least!” 

Zoro sits down and holds out his arm, and Law carefully unwinds the bandage. The wound is stitched together well, the skin puckered and dead on the surface. That’s a nasty poison that had gotten him. 

“How’s his blood?”

“Fine,” both of them reply in unison. 

Law sighs. The poison’s out; the skin is held together. He can speed up the healing process, enough to get the stitches out, probably, but it’s going to be a lot of tedious work for marginal benefit--but that’s thinking purely as a doctor, and Zoro purely as another patient, when it’s impossible to separate out everything else. If they were to be attacked again, the rest of the Straw Hats would probably be okay without Zoro fighting, but he’d want to, and he’d probably do it anyway. He’d hate being put on the sidelines, anyway, just like he’d hated waiting in Wano while half of the crew was somewhere else, beyond him, without him. He is, before all else, their swordsman; he needs to be needed in that capacity. 

“The scar will probably be worse.”

“I’m okay with that,” says Zoro.

“And you’ll still have to wait a few days to get back to normal.”

Zoro frowns. “Better than two weeks, though.”

“You’re actually doing it?” Chopper’s disapproval comes through clear as if Law had held up an X-Ray machine to it. 

“You need your swordsman back.” Law removes his gloves and holds out his left hand. “Squeeze if it hurts too much.”

Zoro takes it, his grip loose, and hearing no more objection from either party, holds his hand above the wound. 

“Room.” He reaches out with his mind.

He can feel the ripped, disconnected tissue, muscle and fat and vein below the skin, nearly to the bone, withered a little from the poison, but not too badly. Whatever antidote had been used--now’s not the time to think about that. Law pinches, bringing the separated tissue closer again. Zoro’s other hand, holding his, doesn’t move. 

Law works the blood vessels, pushing and pulling, rearranging them to where they want to be. He can only push them a little that way before he has to pinch and pull in a different direction to coax out new cells. The body goes at its own pace, and Law can accelerate that to a point, but where is that point for Zoro? Law squeezes; the tissue responds, stronger this time, almost amplified.

Zoro tightens his grip on Law’s hand only once, when Law is working near the surface of the skin, a quick press with his fingers and then even that’s gone. Law pauses to look up at his face. Zoro’s expression has not changed; his eye remains focused on his wrist. Law squeezes his hand in return, and then returns to working.

When it’s all ready, Law’s neck is stiff and hand is cramping from staying in position; he flexes it a few times and wipes it on his pants. His other hand, clasped in Zoro’s still, is fine, but for Zoro to have been in enough pain to squeeze it at all, it must really be hurting. His face is set in its frown, as it had been when they’d started. Stubborn.

“I’m going to take the stitches out now.”

Zoro nods. Sometime during all of this, Chopper had procured a pair of scissors; Law snips each stitch and pulls them out, one by one; Zoro does not look away. The skin bleeds only a little, and rebandaging as he does is probably overkill. 

“Give him something light for the pain,” Law says to Chopper, and then to Zoro, “It’ll feel better tomorrow.”

Tomorrow is sooner than he’d thought; the light filtering in from outside is dimmer and a much different color than it had been when Law had started, and he probably needs to eat something but fuck, he’s tired. The effect of using his powers for so long hits him and he’s like a bathtub suddenly drained; the bed Zoro is sitting on looks both too far away and exceedingly comfortable.

Chopper returns with a bottle of ibuprofen, and Law yawns into his hand. He should at least clean himself off first; he rises to his feet when Zoro lets go of his hand. 

“I wanted to ask you about the process--I know I won’t be able to replicate it perfectly without the use of the Ope-Ope,” Chopper says.

“Yes…” Law says, and Chopper’s follow up is drowned out by the water from the faucet as Law washes his hands. 

“Are you all right? Don’t tell me you overextended yourself.”

Chopper is at Law’s side as he turns off the faucet, of course right when Law yawns into his elbow.

“Just tired. We can talk about the process tomorrow,” Law says. 

“Zoro! Take your medicine.”

“It really doesn’t hurt,” Zoro says, but he shoves two ibuprofen tablets into his mouth anyway. 

Law sits down next to him on the bed and yawns again. He knows better than to actually overdo it, but he’d been so caught up in this that he’d come pretty damn close. He leans his head on Zoro’s shoulder, and Zoro tucks his arm around Law’s waist. And then his eyes close, and he hears Zoro start to speak, and he fades out.

* * *

Law considers, half-seriously, having Bepo turn the ship around when they leave the next day. It’s only half-serious, or maybe more than that, but not enough to tip it over the edge, a ruler perched on the end of the table, extending straight out. He opens his palm over the end, keeps it on the table, keeps moving forward. He thinks of the punctures where the stitches had been on Zoro’s wrist, the thread he’d pulled out, Zoro’s hand squeezing his, Zoro’s face fixated on Law working below the surface of his skin. Law can’t go back, and the same thing that had compelled Zoro to ask him for help, the same thing that had compelled Law to help him, is the reason he can’t ask Zoro to come with him. He is in the service of his crew and his captain, and his captain’s goal, as Law is in the service of his own goal and his own crew.

Again and again this drives them physically apart, but they’re like bodies of water separated by the low tide, periodically flowing back to each other and away again, each part of the cycle as sure as the other. Until now, the balance has been kept, but Law’s too keenly aware of how quickly the submarine moves and the growing distance to the ship. He’s aware of how, despite his work, Zoro’s wrist is still hurt. Zoro could overwork himself; the Straw Hats could be attacked again; the odds of Zoro getting hurt in a similar way are low, but the possibility that it can happen, because it has happened, can’t be removed from Law’s mind. It’s stuck there, wrapping around his cells, constraining them to the beat of his pulse. What if? What if he’s not there? What if Law can’t be there for another who-knows-how-long? Chopper will take care of Zoro, but what if it’s not sufficient?

Trusting who and what he can’t see has never come easily to Law. Even when he can see it, everything’s come crashing out from under him time and again. Zoro’s luck and confidence have gotten him out of worse than a briefly-weakened arm before--the scar over his left eye, the scar on his chest, the things that had looked so clearly wrong in the way he’d moved the first time Law had met him (the one impression of him Law remembers from then, and, occasionally, he wonders about it now). Keeping Zoro with him wouldn’t remove his worry; he’d see Zoro’s recklessness all the time, and that’s exchanging one sort of anxious thought for another. (But, if they were together, they would have more time; it’s a tautology but it’s true.)

He’s been living with this on his mind the whole time, though; it’s laid in him, dormant until this set it off. It’s a poison thought he can’t stop himself from thinking. He knows the suddenness of injury and death too well. 

A fish passes the porthole, or the submarine passes the fish or both, really. Law watches until it’s too far away, disappeared in the murky darkness of the ocean. He yawns, stretching his hand up until it’s almost touching the ceiling. The questions remain at hand. What does he want? What does Zoro want? 

What can either of them do with that?

* * *

There’s no shame in letting pragmatism win out over pride, and sharing information with the Straw Hats’ contacts in the Revolutionary Army is the most practical thing to do. Telling things that are not exactly secret to people who operate as often as they do in the shadows probably has less of a risk than telling Straw Hat does. And they were invaluable help in Dressrosa, so perhaps it’s only right to settle that as a debt.

They all feast together. Straw Hat and his brother talk over each other as they reminisce, and everyone else talks louder to hear their own conversations, and it’s so loud that Law forgets to worry. Zoro leans on his shoulder, every so often topping off his sake, Law seeing over and over again his unbandaged wrist. This, tonight, is not enough to satisfy him; he feels both in want of nothing and in want of more of this, Zoro’s hand on his thigh under the table and Zoro’s laugh reverberating in his ears. 

One of the Revolutionaries says something about a Poneglyph, and Law turns his head quickly, questions already forming in his mind. Zoro squeezes his knee. 

Zoro falls asleep first, curled around Law like smoke around a chimney. Law wants more of this, too; it would be easy to ask Zoro to come with him now, after everything. That’s not what Law needs to ask him, though; what he wants is simple enough but formed by waves eroding over and over again until the twisting shape of his desire on the path of the future is visible, a destination in mind, having that, he and Zoro both finding their own answers, and after that, if they still wanted, being able to ask that of each other. He still cannot quite find the words, but he needs to say something. He’ll figure it out, or he won’t, but he’ll let his impulses run wild; Zoro always seems to understand what he’s getting at when he does.

* * *

Before leaving, Law returns to the  _ Sunny _ ’s crow’s nest. The weights Zoro is lifting now look even heavier than before; for a while, Law watches, sitting on the bench, as Zoro lifts one in each arm, with seemingly minimal effort. The new scar on his wrist does not tighten especially when he does; the strength of each arm looks roughly the same, if the way Zoro switches weights from hand to hand is any indication. Still, when he takes a break, Law takes Zoro’s wrist in his hands to examine it.

“I’ve been lifting without a problem,” says Zoro, but he doesn’t snatch his arm away.

It’s had time to fully heal, especially given the shorter timeframe, but Law feels better having the assurance of looking at it. 

“I worry,” Law says, one thumb poised at the end of the scar.

“I know,” says Zoro. “I worry about you, too, you know.”

Law does know. Of course he does. Saying that’s not enough, though; he has to say it all, the words flooding, all of a sudden, to his mouth.

“I can’t keep you with me or look after you; I can’t ask that of you. I can’t put you first. Not right now.” He leans back slightly against the glass. “Can you wait until I can?”

Zoro flips his arm over to hold Law’s hand in his; the scar catches the light as he does, shining white as a blade in the light.

Zoro hooks his thumb around Law’s. “It’s not exactly waiting, though, is it?”

And, Law supposes, he’s right--they can’t ask each other for that because there are things in front of them that they have to do, that they have to wrap their arms around and get a good hold, promises that they have no intention of not upholding with all of themselves, and they’ll be busy doing that, not sitting at a window crying like the protagonist of a fairy tale. And they’ll have as much of each other as they can give, until then, which isn’t something to be belittled or dismissed. So no, not exactly waiting, but--is there a better word for it?

Zoro squeezes his hand. His palm is damp with sweat. His expression is soft, like water just broken from surface tension. As for when, there’s no sense in imagining the specifics of the future before it happens, when they don’t know where its currents will take them. Zoro’s voice is quiet when he leans in, but it’s Law who steals the kiss, their hands still clasped as a seal.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


End file.
